


Oh, Fortuna

by BeNotAfeard



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Famous Harry, Liam is only mentioned and Niall barely features sorry, Louis and Harry being massive idiots when it comes to each other, M/M, Non-Famous Louis, Pining, Zayn and Eleanor as Louis' BFFs, featuring Harry as a solo artist and Louis as a uni student, give me all the pining, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:03:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeNotAfeard/pseuds/BeNotAfeard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Hey, Louis,” Eleanor says suddenly, “wasn’t Harry Styles on X-Factor the same year you auditioned?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I didn’t know you auditioned for X Factor!” Perrie gasps, as Louis sends a death glare Eleanor’s way, who at least has the decency to look apologetic. “Oh my god, did you meet him?”</em>
</p><p> <em>“Right, I need another drink.” Louis gets up heavily, ignoring Zayn’s concerned look and Eleanor’s guilty one.</em></p><p> <em>His head is still fuzzy, but he doesn’t feel warm anymore.</em></p><p> <br/>(Or, three years after Louis is sent home at the Judges Houses stage of X-Factor, and Harry finds international fame as a solo artist, they meet again at a local pub in London.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Fortuna

Louis is in that happy stage between tipsy and drunk, where everything is warm and a little bit fuzzy, so much so that when he first spots the head of curly hair sitting at a booth not far from his, he thinks he’s mistaken.

Because, he _recognises_ those curls, even if they’re a lot looser and longer than they were last time Louis saw them in person, just as he recognises the signature headscarf tied through them, and, if he listens hard enough, he can just pick out the deep, slow, familiar tone of voice amongst the cacophony of sounds in the pub. _Louis’_ local pub.

What the _fuck_ was Harry Styles – X-Factor runner up from three years ago turned singer/songwriter extraordinaire – doing having a drink in _Louis’_ local pub?

“Zayn,” Louis mutters, craning his neck to see over the booth and make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. “ _Zayn_.”

Zayn, busy in conversation with the blonde haired chick from one of Louis’ seminar classes whose name has slipped his mind, breaks away to stare at Louis, managing to look both unimpressed and questioning with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raise.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Louis says, his eyes still fixed on those damn curls, and now the blonde girl is looking at him too, “but is that not Harry fucking Styles sitting in the booth two behind you?”

Zayn immediately swivels in his seat to see for himself, and when he turns back to Louis, his face is a mixture of amused and sympathetic. “What the fuck’s a popstar like him doing in this hole?”

“Is that Nick Grimshaw he’s with?” the girl asks – _Perrie_ , that’s her name, Perrie – the two of them being far too unsubtle for Louis’ liking.

“Get down,” he hisses, “before they notice us looking.” The bloke with the quiff did look familiar at a second glance, but Louis was far more focused on the skinny, brunette girl that the arm attached to the curls was currently slung around. Not that keeping up with the romantic activities of Harry Styles was something Louis was interested in doing - although it was hard to avoid it when his latest conquests were constantly being splashed across the front page of every magazine and tabloid.

(Well, Louis might be slightly interested. But in his defence, he has – or, had – a vested interest, okay? He doesn’t judge himself too hard for it).

“He’s a celebrity in a public place,” Perrie rolls her eyes, “I’m sure he’s used to people staring at him.”

“Maybe they thought they’d be less likely to be recognised in a place like this,” Eleanor butts in from Louis’ right, and Louis turns to see that they’ve caught the attention of the rest of their booth.

“D’you think he’d take a picture with me?” one of Eleanor’s friends asks, and Louis groans, burying his head in his arms on the sticky table top. This could be embarrassing. He’s pretty certain Harry wouldn’t recognise him anyway, but Louis would _know_ , and that would be bad enough.

A hand grips his elbow, and Louis looks up to see Zayn’s gaze on him, a clear question in his eyes. Louis shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to leave. He was here to celebrate handing those damn coursework pieces in, and after weeks of stress and late night library stints there was no way he was going home early on a Friday night.

“Hey, Louis,” Eleanor says suddenly, “wasn’t Harry Styles on X-Factor the same year you auditioned?”

“I didn’t know you auditioned for X Factor!” Perrie gasps, as Louis sends a death glare Eleanor’s way, who at least has the decency to look apologetic. “Oh my god, did you meet him?”

“Right, I need another drink.” Louis gets up heavily, ignoring Zayn’s concerned look and Eleanor’s guilty one.

His head is still fuzzy, but he doesn’t feel warm anymore.

*

It wasn’t that he was bitter, was the thing.

Harry was _so_ talented, much better at singing that Louis had been. And he had this aura about him, a charisma and charm that was so innate, so rare – there was never a doubt that he would make it through to the live shows, those three years ago. Louis had only entered for a laugh, never expecting to even get past the first round of auditions, so making it to the Judges Houses had been a bonus. He’d been disappointed not to get to the live shows, sure, but he wasn’t bitter.

It was just.

It was just that him and Harry had got on _so well_. They’d met at their first auditions in Manchester, and to this day Louis has never bonded with a person so quickly. They just seemed to _fit_ together. They were practical magnets throughout boot-camp, and only got closer when they were sent to freaking _Australia_ with Dannii Minogue. Louis had liked all the guys in their category well enough – he could still remember the Irish kid that never stopped smiling, and Liam puppy-dog eyed Payne, who got through to the lives but cracked under the pressure a few weeks in – but there was something different about Harry.

Louis wasn’t ashamed to say that he developed a bit of a crush. And he’d even thought at the time that it might have been mutual, though that must have been wishful thinking.

And, well.

They’d promised to stay in touch, was all. They’d spent a week attached at the hip in the sun in Australia, and weeks before that texting constantly. And the night before the final elimination, when Harry had snuck into Louis’ bed to cuddle because he couldn’t sleep for nerves, he’d promised that whatever happened the next day, they’d stay in touch.

He’d sounded so _sincere_.

And it might be petty to hold a grudge, but. Louis had really _liked_ Harry. He was goofy and funny and sweet and so damn _likeable_ , and he’d looked Louis in the eye and promised him they’d stay friends. Even if nothing had come from the crush, Louis had sure as hell wanted Harry as a friend.

And then.

Well, it didn’t take too much radio silence for Louis to take the hint. No answers to his calls, no replies to his texts – he’d even resorted to tweeting once or twice. A simple ‘ _I don’t want to talk to you anymore’_ would have sufficed, but it seemed Harry didn’t even care about him enough to grant him that courtesy.

And once the competition had ended, and Harry had been picked up by SyCo despite only coming in third place and not being in Simon’s category to begin with, it became clear to Louis that the sweet, goofy boy that seemed to click with him in a way no one had before no longer existed. These days, if Harry wasn’t making headlines because of the massive parties he regularly threw in his bachelor pad in LA, it was because of the latest model he was rumoured to be sleeping with. Fame changes you, Louis supposes.

And if he still gets a twinge in his chest whenever one of Harry’s songs comes on the radio, then you can’t really blame him.

It didn’t mean he was bitter.

*

Louis is still at the bar, nursing his second pint in half an hour, when he feels someone approaching him from behind. He instinctively knows who it is, and clutches his pint tighter, ready to awkwardly make an escape, because this is just _typical_. A nervous sounding throat-clearing and mutter of “ _excuse me_ ,” however, makes him turn around despite himself.

Sure enough, Harry Styles is standing directly behind him, but instead of asking him to move out of the way like Louis expects, his face splits into a wide grin, eyes lighting up.

“Louis!” he says with delight, and now Louis is nothing but confused, because even by the end of X-Factor he was convinced Harry had forgotten all about him, so hearing his name coming from Harry’s mouth is a tad unexpected. “Louis Tomlinson! It is you!”

Louis fishmouths for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. Harry’s grin falters slightly, and he says, sounding uncertain, “you do, um. Remember me, don’t you?”

Louis laughs at that, because, _what_? Is Harry Styles seriously asking Louis if he remembers him? Maybe his drink has been spiked, and he’s been hallucinating this whole night. That would make more sense that the current situation.

“You are aware of your celebrity status, right?” Louis asks, pleased that he manages to sound snarky instead of shaky. “I doubt anyone who’s met you can’t remember doing so.”

Harry laughs at that, but it’s a high, shaky sound that doesn’t sound anything like the laugh Louis remembered. “Can I, um, can I join you?” he indicates the empty seat next to Louis, who shrugs, not really sure what’s going on, but deciding to just go with it.

Harry sits down, rather clumsily, and Louis gets a proper look at him. Jesus Christ, if Louis had found him attractive at sixteen that was nothing to how he looked now. His hair, slightly too long to be conventional, frames his face nicely, which was in itself more chiselled than the chubby it had been three years ago. He’s taller too, and broader, and as he sets his pint on the counter Louis zeroes in on his giant hands, and suddenly feels even smaller than he usually does. He swears he’d been taller than Harry at boot-camp.

“Um.” Harry coughs, clearing his throat again, and Louis is struck by Harry’s eyes, and how intently they’re focused on his own. He feels self-conscious all of a sudden, and finds himself fidgeting in his stool, bringing a hand up to flatten his hair, the other one still gripping his pint like a safety line. “So, Louis, how are you? How’ve you been?”

Louis almost laughs. “How’ve I been? What, in the three years since we last spoke?” He tries really hard to sound casual instead of biting, but Harry still winces slightly. Louis tells himself to stop being ridiculous; it wasn’t like him and Harry had even been properly friends, it was more the potential for friendship that had been destroyed. Harry didn’t owe him anything, and really, was being nothing but nice by coming over to say hi.

“Sorry,” Louis says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “I was just a bit surprised that you remembered me, is all.” Harry’s eyes widen at that, looking confused, as if the very notion of forgetting Louis was ridiculous. Louis doesn’t pretend that isn’t an ego boost. “I’ve been really good, actually. I’m in my final year at UCL, live just round the corner from here. Studying drama. Thinking of going into teaching.”

He shrugs, feeling very normal in the presence of someone who’s travelled the world, performing in front of thousands of people, but Harry breaks into a smile. He smiles with his whole face, and Louis is a little bit transfixed. “That’s amazing! You’re going to be so good at that!”

 _How do you know?_ Louis wants to ask. _You don’t know me_. But, no. He doesn’t want to be petty.

“Thanks,” Louis says instead, feeling his face redden. God, this is awkward. “I’m actually out celebrating the end of our coursework deadlines.” He waves a hand in the general direction of Zayn and the others, not wanting to look over in case he’s being obviously stared at. He’s probably being obviously stared at. Zayn can be subtle, but Eleanor has no chill.

“That’s really cool,” Harry says, his cheeks also stained pink, before settling into silence. Why is he still here? Louis doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he hates awkward silences, so he shoulders on.

“Not quite as cool as the stuff I’m sure you’ve been up to these past few years, but it’s passable, I suppose.” He aims for joking, but if anything Harry’s cheeks get even pinker, his hands twisting together in his lap. He laughs, but it’s still that weird, high sound that Louis doesn’t like.

“It’s been okay, I guess.”

“ _Okay_?” Louis knows he sounds unimpressed, but come _on_. Although he was perfectly happy with his lot in life now, a few years ago he’d wanted what Harry had, caught up in the thrill of passing the auditions and boot-camp. The least he could do was act like he wasn’t taking the incredible opportunity he’d been given for granted.

“Well, no, I mean, it’s been amazing, of course,” Harry says hastily. “I just meant, well. I’d much rather talk about you.”

Louis’s frowning now. He doesn’t understand what this conversation is _at all_. “Why do you want to talk about me? The only reason you’re talking to me at all is because we happened to be at the same bar at the same time. Otherwise you’d have gone through life without giving a single thought to your old boot-camp pal.”

Harry looks visibly upset at that, and opens his mouth to protest, but Louis barrels on before he can. “And that’s fine, you know? I totally get it, I mean, it was a bit of a dick move at the time, but I really do get it.” Why would Harry have been interested in carrying on a barely formed friendship when faced with the excitement of the X-Factor, and all the fame it entailed? “I’m more just confused about why you’re talking to me now? I mean, it was nice of you and all, but…”

Louis trails off, and Harry is looking at him with such a mix of confusion and hurt (and is there a bit of guilt in there too?) that suddenly, Louis is so done with this conversation, this night.

He stands abruptly. “I think I’m actually going to go, now,” he says, brushing his hands down his trousers to avoid having to meet Harry’s eyes. “It was nice talking to you though, and you know, wish you all the best. For your future stuff, and, stuff.”

Oh god, that was the most awkward thing he’s ever said. He needs to leave. So he does, walking straight past Zayn’s concerned gaze and leaving Harry at the bar, alone.

What a fucking weird night.

*

Louis wakes the next morning to the sound of his phone vibrating, and he groans, reaching for it without opening his eyes. Zayn had left the bar shortly after Louis, not asking for details, simply making Louis a cup of tea and accepting his cuddles, because Zayn is the best person and somehow understands that Louis doesn’t want to talk about it. The only other person Louis texts on a regular basis is Eleanor, so Louis’s expecting to see her name when he looks at his phone screen. Instead, his insides freeze up.

_Curly Styles (3)_

That was – that was _Harry’s_ number. His hair really had been a lot curlier back then; Louis could remember spending a whole evening sitting on Harry’s bed in the room they’d shared in boot-camp, combing his hand through the wild mop because it had seemed to calm his nerves. That was definitely what he had Harry’s number saved as - he was unlikely to forget after the weeks of one-sided messages.

Louis could never quite bring himself to delete the number, and he didn’t really want to examine why that might be. He’s never tried to contact Harry after the live shows though, partly due to stubbornness, and partly because he’d never have thought Harry would keep his old number. Wasn’t it a given that famous people changed their numbers, like, for privacy reasons? The name flashing in front of him stated the contrary.

With fingers only slightly shaky, Louis opens the thread, not sure what he’s going to find. He’d probably seemed quite rude last night - was this going to be Harry calling him out on it? What would be the point of that, though? And more importantly, why did Harry even care? Louis eyes widen as he reads the messages.

_Hii, Louis. Well, if this is still Louis (if it’s not, then please ignore this message, sorry!) This is Harry (from last night) if you don’t have my number anymore. I was wondering, if you weren’t busy today, if you wanted to meet me for coffee so we can talk? I feel like I upset you last night, and I’d really like to apologise? Please?_

And then another one sent five minutes later.

_Sorry, I feel like this is really out of the blue. But I was really happy to see you last night, and I’d really like a chance to catch up properly._

And then another one immediately after.

_Only if you want to though, obviously. Sorry, I’ll stop texting you now._

Louis has to read the messages a few times to make sure that they actually say what they appear to say. That was… not what he was expecting at all. _Harry_ wants to apologise to _him_? The messages were so hedging and uncertain – which, actually, was exactly how Harry had sounded last night, before Louis blew up at him.

Louis sighs heavily, feeling like an arse. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that Louis still held a petty grudge which was heavily due to a three year old crush. Harry behaving shitty back then didn’t make Louis entitled to behave shitty now, and he probably (okay, definitely) hadn’t deserved Louis’ abrupt dismissal and exit.

Plus, Louis has to admit, he’s intrigued. What could Harry possibly want to talk about badly enough to dig up a number that hasn’t been used in three years? Louis is still in shock that Harry still _has_ his number.

(And if this makes him re-question exactly why all those messages of his went unanswered – god, reading through the thread is just embarrassing – then Louis pushes it to the back of his mind.)

Louis replies with an affirmative, asking to meet at his favourite café just a few tube stations down from his and Zayn’s flat, and Harry responds immediately, with a beaming emoji, and, quite randomly, a frog. Louis shrugs, and forces himself to get out of the warmth of his bed.

Zayn needs to be informed of this unexpected turn of events.

*

An hour and a half later finds Louis sitting nervously in the café in question, trying not to stare too obviously at the door. He’s half expecting this to all be some kind of joke, but he still can’t tear his eyes away from the entrance – so when Harry does arrive, five minutes before the time they were scheduled to meet, Louis has time to busy himself with his phone and his drink, only looking up when he feels Harry approach his table.

“Hi Louis!” Harry’s voice is warm and bright, and Louis feels his stomach tighten as he looks up at Harry’s face.

Harry sits down, cappuccino in one hand and a plate with two muffins in the other. He slides the plate into the middle of the table and smiles at Louis uncertainly, and Louis feels like his insides are melting a little. This is not good. He can’t even pretend that he isn’t just as attracted to Harry as he was three years ago, but if Harry didn’t want him back then, when they were both nervous contestants, there’s no way he’d want him now that he’s rich and famous and Louis is utterly normal. An inconvenient crush is the last thing he needs.

Harry’s hands are twisting together on top of the table, and Louis realises he hasn’t actually responded.

“Sorry, hi!” he says quickly, taking a big gulp of his tea to cover the fact that his face feels warm. “Um, how are you?” Wait, no.” Louis interrupts himself, changing tactic mid-sentence. “Before you answer that, I just wanted to apologise for leaving so suddenly last night. And for being a bit, um, blunt. I hope I didn’t, like, offend you or anything.”

Harry looks surprised at Louis’ ramblings. “No, not at all, don’t be silly! You weren’t blunt, and I wasn’t offended!” Louis suspects this is a lie, but he hates apologising, so if Harry wants to brush it off then Louis sure as hell isn’t going to complain. “Honestly, I should be the one apologising to you. I know this must seem so out of the blue to you, but it wasn’t true last night, what you said about me going through life without giving you a second thought. I was,” Harry trails off, hesitating, “I was so happy to see you last night. I’d um. I’d really like for us to hang out, if you wanted to. Get to know you, again.”

Louis doesn’t really know what to say. He’s spent the past three years so sure that he was never going to see Harry again, and was fine with that, for the most part. But now Harry was here, and actually wanting to spend time with him? Louis feels a bit like a toy that was put down three years ago and now picked back up again at Harry’s whim, and he knows it would probably be healthier to just walk away now – but he can’t quite bring himself to.

“I’d really like that too,” Louis says honestly, and Harry’s face transforms, smiling so brightly that Louis feels a smile reluctantly spread over his own. Harry had always been like this, Louis remembers, wearing his emotions so openly that they appeared to be contagious. “But, um. Aren’t you pretty busy with like, being a celebrity and all that?”

Harry laughs, this time with some resemblance to the loud, honking sound Louis remembers from boot-camp. “I actually have the next two weeks off before I have to go back to LA to start recording my second album. I have a flat in London but I live mostly in LA these days,” he adds, and Louis nods along as if wasn’t already aware, busying himself with taking a bite of the muffin Harry bought for him.

Louis opens his mouth to ask how long Harry is planning on staying in London, but Harry’s already talking. “So, I was thinking, I have a thing tonight, but if you weren’t busy, I could come cook for you tomorrow?”

“You want to – cook for me?” Louis asks, slightly disbelieving. No one has ever offered to cook for Louis before (except Zayn, but he suspects that was more out of pity than genuine enjoyment).

“Yeah,” Harry says, his head nodding so eagerly that Louis’s struck with the image of a hyper-active puppy. “I _love_ cooking, and I remember you saying how much you hated it, so it’d be my pleasure, honestly.” Louis’ eyebrows raise, because _he_ can’t even remember telling Harry about his diabolical relationship with the kitchen, but Harry seems to misinterpret, and hastily adds, “I mean, I know that was years ago, I’m sure things have changed since then –“

Louis barks out a laugh. “Oh, no, I’m still as shit at cooking as I was at eighteen, I’m just surprised you remembered, is all.”

Harry smiles warmly at him, and Louis curses his stomach for fluttering at the sight. “So is that okay then, for tomorrow?”

Louis nods, struggling to suppress a smile. He may very well be screwed.

*

The “thing” Harry said he was doing on Saturday evening turned out to be a Secret Show. (Although, it was sold out in advance, so Louis doesn’t see how anything about it was secret.) Louis had asked while they were on their second lot of drinks, half expecting Harry to be going to some uptown fancy party, and pleasantly surprised at the answer.

“Like, I’m still not over the fact that people actually want to pay money to see me perform,” Harry had explained, “but I obviously won’t get to tour again until my second album is out, and there were lots of people tweeting me about how they didn’t get to see me first time around, so I wanted to give those people a chance to see me now. I mean, what if they don’t like my next album? They might not want to see me by the time I next tour.”

Louis has heard Harry’s first album; a mix of chill, acoustic guitar and catchy choruses, and deep, soulful lyrics, and very much doubts that he’ll be losing fans anytime soon, but still, it was a sweet thought, and seemed a very ‘Harry’ thing to do.

The fact that Louis is already thinking of anything as being ‘Harry’ is terrifying to him. He needs to remember that he doesn’t actually know nineteen-year old Harry all that well, and that one (albeit very enjoyable) coffee trip doesn’t erase the three years of evidence to remind Louis that Harry is a celebrity who is anything but sweet.

Zayn shares his concerns.

“I just don’t see how it’s fair that after one chance meeting he suddenly thinks he’s entitled to be part of your life,” he was saying, sitting in their kitchen while Louis tries not to freak out about the fact that Harry would be arriving to cook in a few hours. “Like, if we hadn’t seen him at the pub then none of this would have happened.”

“That’s what I thought, at first,” Louis nods. “But he didn’t seem like he felt entitled yesterday. He was so weirdly uncertain about everything, like, always making sure I wasn’t offended by anything he said. It was weird.”

“Sounds weird, mate. Not at all how I imagined Harry Styles to be.”

“Well, if you weren’t such a lazy git you wouldn’t have to imagine,” Louis jibes, and Zayn rolls his eyes. When they first met, a pair of wide-eyed freshers clueless about life in a big city, they’d bonded over the fact that Zayn had applied for X-Factor the same year Louis had, but missed his audition because he’d slept in, and it’s become a bit of a running joke over the years. Louis often wonders if things would have happened differently if Zayn had actually made it to his audition.

“I just,” Louis sighs, trying to put what he’s feeling into words. “I had such a good time yesterday, just talking to him. He’s exactly how I remember him, except like, older and more mature. And that’s, like, terrifying to me. It’s like my body is forgetting that he’s a fucking _celebrity_ and is like, _yes, you, I like you_.”

Zayn snorts, which would be unattractive on anyone else, but Louis has long since learnt that there is nothing Zayn could possibly do without simultaneously looking like Apollo. “Just be careful, Lou. If you want to be friends with this guy, then great, go for it. But I remember how you were when I met you, and you were still hung up over him. Don’t let him hurt you again.”

Zayn’s words are still playing in Louis’ head as he lets Harry into the flat, his arms full with brown bags that Louis assumes contain cooking ingredients. Harry is dressed in a shirt that’s buttoned low enough to reveal several tattoos that Louis’ seen before splashed on the cover of various magazines, and he averts his gaze, swallowing heavily and suddenly feeling very underdressed in a pair of joggers and his house-beanie. Harry doesn’t seem to notice Louis’ flushed state, or if he does, he chooses not to comment, instead grinning happily and asking to be pointed to the kitchen.

“So, how was your show last night?” Louis asks, following Harry through to the small, typically student kitchen, feeling slightly embarrassed at the mess of dirty dishes on the counter and generally shabby state of the place. He leans against the counter to try and hide the sight of the mess, and berates himself for not thinking of cleaning earlier. “And what are you making me?”

Harry doesn’t look bothered by the size or state of the kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter opposite Louis and unpacking various items; Louis’ diet mostly comprises of takeaways and microwave meals, so his eyes widen at the sight of eggs, cheese, garlic and jars of who knows what.

“I thought I’d make us some ricotta dumplings?” Harry says, turning it into a question. Louis doesn’t know what a ricotta dumpling is, but he doesn’t want to sound stupid, so he makes a noise of vague approval. Harry seems to sense his hesitation and his smile takes on a nervous edge. “They’re really good, I promise!”

Now Louis feels like a dick. “I’m sure they are, Haz,” he says, and Harry’s eyes seem to brighten in surprise at the unintentional nickname. “I’m looking forward to it. Just a bit posher than what I’m used to… student life and all.”

Harry giggles at that, which Louis tries very hard not to find endearing. “I love your flat.” Louis’ eyebrows rise disbelievingly, and Harry laughs again, “no, seriously, it’s so student-y. It feels so lived in. I always get jealous when I visit my home friends’ universities.”

“Well, I’m sure they have more to be jealous of you for,” Louis points out, and he means it to be a joke, but Harry’s smile falters immediately, and he levels Louis with that same expression he wore in the pub, a mixture of sadness and guilt. Before Louis can explain that he really wasn’t referencing their brief shared time in the competition (a topic that hasn’t yet been approached, and Louis would quite like it to stay that way) Harry has changed the subject.

“The show was great, anyway, thanks for asking!” His smile is back, but Louis doesn’t think it’s as authentic as it was before.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, regretting saying anything in the first place. “Tell me about it?”

This seems to be the right thing to say, for Harry gives Louis another look of surprise, before rushing into a description of the evening, and how freeing it feels to perform your own songs, and how exhilarating it is to hear your own lyrics shouted back at you.

Louis knows his face must be stupidly fond, listening to Harry talk as he prepares the dumplings. He has a spot of flour on his cheek from wiping his hand across his face, and Louis itches to lean forward and brush it off, but he restrains himself. Even if this whole situation feels very date-like, Louis is very aware of the fact that Harry is almost definitely straight, and wouldn’t be interested in him anyway.

They sit down to eat in Louis and Zayn’s living room, a cramped but cosy space filled with blankets and bean-bags, perfect for Netflix binge watching or Fifa marathons. Zayn had made himself scarce for the evening, claiming that he had no interest in pop-stars, but Louis suspects he’s actually on a date. He and Perrie had certainly looked cosy on Friday night.

Harry’s expression is positively sunny as he takes in the room around him, and when Louis makes a borderline orgasmic noise upon trying a dumpling he bursts into laughter, a bright sound that has Louis grinning around his food.

“This is so good!” Louis exclaims, shovelling more into his mouth, and Harry’s answering smile lights up the room. “Like, seriously, this has ruined me for microwave meals.”

“Please tell me your diet consists of more than microwave meals,” Harry deadpans, and when Louis only shrugs sheepishly in answer, he sighs heavily. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to come round and cook more often.”

“I guess you will,” Louis says, after only a slight pause. He isn’t quite sure what to do with that statement - but if he’s firmly on this ride, then he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Harry seems to sense Louis’ hesitation though, and his eyes soften. Louis might be projecting here, but he _thinks_ he sees regret.

“I really want to apologise,” Harry says, and even his voice is soft. Louis’ stomach tightens automatically. “You know, for, um, stopping contact with you during the X-Factor shows. I’m so, so sorry.”

Louis would have phrased it less ‘stopping contact’ and more ‘ditching,’ but suddenly, he finds he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not unless it comes with an explanation, but Harry has stopped talking and is looking at Louis with a face full of trepidation, and it doesn’t look like an explanation is coming.

“It’s fine –” Louis tries to brush off, but Harry shakes his head immediately, interrupting.

“It’s not fine, and don’t pretend it is. I read all your messages, I know you were upset, and then angry about it, don’t pretend it’s fine.”

 _Why did you do it?_ Louis wants to ask. _Why wasn’t I good enough?_ But he just can’t bring himself to.

“Okay, it wasn’t fine,” he says after a pause, the air around them seeming thicker than it was a minute ago. “It was actually really shitty of you. If you didn’t plan on staying in touch you shouldn’t have acted the way you did in Australia with me, and you shouldn’t have made stupid promises that you weren’t going to keep.”

Harry looks like he’s in pain, his forehead scrunched and his eyes wide and sad, but he doesn’t say anything, only nods jerkily, in what Louis assumes is agreement.

“But Harry, it’s been three years,” Louis continues after another pause. “You’ve got your new life, I’ve got my new life, and I’m really not hung up on it anymore.” (That wasn’t strictly true, but Harry didn’t need to know that). “So, honestly, it’s okay. We don’t need to talk about it.”

Harry sighs quietly, before nodding a few more times in succession, his face dejected and eyes lowered. He reaches over to gather Louis’ empty plate from his lap, saying, “I’ll clean these up before I go,” and Louis’ hand is gripping Harry’s arm before he’s realised what he’s doing.

“Do you have to go now?” Louis asks, “I thought we could watch a movie?” He hadn’t thought this at all until that very second, but he couldn’t bear to let the evening end on such a down note when it had been so good up till that point.

Harry meets Louis’ eyes, and though his face still has a pinched look to it, a smile slowly spreads across it. “Do you have Titanic?” His voice has a hopeful tilt.

Louis scoffs. “Of course I have Titanic!”

Harry exhales a laugh at that, and appears to shake himself, before grinning much more brightly than he had been before. “Well, in that case, I’ll clean the dishes, you put the popcorn on.”

“Gotcha.” Louis watches Harry retreat back into the kitchen, before adding, “and thanks for apologising, Haz.”

Harry looks at Louis over his shoulder, and his expression is soft. “Of course, Lou,” he answers quietly, and Louis feels warmth spread through him, down to his bones.

*

The following fortnight is ever so slightly surreal. Harry had left on Sunday evening, red-eyed and sniffy from the film (“I don’t even care about Rose and Jack, Lou, it’s all real people that actually died, it’s so cruel!”), hugging Louis tightly by the door while Louis tried not to flush at the feel of Harry’s face against his neck.

The whole evening had felt very date-like, and was probably the most fun Louis had had in a while, awkward conversation about their past aside. But Harry hadn’t made mention of seeing Louis again, and Louis had assumed that with all the plans Harry must already have for his two weeks down-time he’d be too busy.

He’d gone to bed melancholy, yet pleased that he could finally let go of the grudge he’d held against Harry for the past three years, now able to think of him with fond memories.

It had been a bit of a surprise to say the least, then, when Louis answers the door the following evening to find Harry, an almost sheepish look on his face, holding a bag from Louis’ favourite Chinese takeaway.

Louis was so honestly not expecting to see him, that all he can do is raise his eyebrows. Harry shoves the food bag into Louis’ hands like it’s a peace offering, and says, “I was overcome with a sudden urge to watch The Notebook but didn’t want to watch alone, and thought you’d be the perfect man for the job.”

And so the evening follows. Harry snuggles up to Louis on the sofa, surrounded by blankets and Chinese food, and even manages to convince Zayn to join them despite his derision for the film in question (“They’re soulmates, Zayn, _soulmates_!”). By the end of the evening, Zayn’s initial reservations had been wiped clean away, and the two were joking about the band they’d have formed if they’d met at the X-Factor auditions (“I guess you can be in it too, Lou, if you insist...”).

Louis was still glowing over Harry choosing to come to him out of all the people he must know in London. He feels like his longing must be written across his face – he’d always been an open book, and the knowing looks Zayn kept giving him weren’t helping to state the contrary, but Harry seemed oblivious, not returning to his flat until close to midnight in a whirlwind of hugs, Louis left blinking in the aftermath.

The days continue in a similar fashion. Louis has lectures and seminars to attend, of course, and is determined to not miss a single class this semester (Eleanor working out how much they were actually paying per hour of contact time had given him a right scare… fuck you, Nick Clegg), but the schedule of a drama student leaves plenty of room for other activities, or in Louis’ case, for Harry.

On Tuesday Louis goes out for coffee with Eleanor, who’s been bugging him since Friday for the details on Harry, and returns to his flat to find the boy in question sitting on the sofa with Zayn, a Fifa match in progress. Harry waves enthusiastically, beaming, and Louis blinks by the door for a few seconds before shrugging and joining them, grabbing the remote from Harry and ignoring his squawk of protest.

Louis doesn’t see Harry on Wednesday, because he has an appearance on the Radio One Breakfast Show and then he has plans with Nick Grimshaw, but he texts Louis throughout the entire day – ranging from snarky comments on the dress senses of strangers he passes on the street to quite frankly awful jokes that absolutely don’t make Louis smile into his hands. (Okay, so he’s totally charmed, whatever).

Thursday is different again; Louis walks out of his last seminar to find Harry leaning against the wall outside his classroom.

“Are you stalking me, now?” Louis blurts out, and Harry barks with laughter, startling some passers-by. Harry’s curls are hidden by a beanie, and he’s wearing a ridiculous combination of thick scarf and big sunglasses in an obvious attempt at a disguise.

“I asked Zayn where you’d be,” Harry says, an amused smile lingering on his face at the stalking accusation. “Hope that’s okay. We’re going ice staking. Hello, I’m Harry,” he adds, addressing Eleanor, who is clutching Louis arm a tad too tightly to be comfortable.

“Um, yeah, I – hi!” she squeaks, squeezing Louis’ arm ever tighter and hissing, “details, tomorrow!” in his ear before dashing off.

“That was Eleanor. She’s normally a lot louder than that, I think you scared her off with your intimidating celebrity presence,” Louis drawls, drawing his eyes up and down the ridiculous outfit in front of him, and Harry laughs again in apparent delight. “Also, ice skating?”

“Yeah, I’ve already booked it!” Harry really is just a big puppy, with his wide eyes and endearing enthusiasm, and Louis struggles to hold back a grin.

Harry, it turns out, is a practical Bambi on the ice, and they end up sprawled in a heap of giggles on the rink floor more times than Louis can count, but it’s _fun_. Harry is fun. And _funny_ (in his own unique way, anyway). And charming, and sweet, and kind, and really nothing at all like how the papers have been portraying him for the past three years. Louis knows he’s in far too deep, but he can’t bring himself to get out of the water.

Speaking of papers, Louis finds himself starting to appear in them. (Well, okay, that’s an exaggeration. But honestly, seeing blurry photos of himself in online articles on Sugerscape and Yahoo Celebrity is a total mind trip, so he’s allowed to exaggerate). Zayn points this out on Sunday morning. The night before, Harry had invited him out for drinks with a few of his London friends (including Nick Grimshaw and Alexa Chung and Daisy Lowe, what the fuck), and now the articles were speculating who the unknown guy was who Harry apparently ‘couldn’t keep his eyes off.’

Louis takes this with a pinch of salt. After doing a bit of research, he’s discovered that some of the more tabloid-y magazines like to play about with Harry’s sexuality, but there’s certainly been no evidence against him being anything but straight, and besides, Louis’ sure Harry would have told him if that were the case by now. They’ve been spending pretty much every day together, and Louis is sure his crush on Harry must be written all over his face, so if Harry had been at all interested in Louis, he would have said something.

No, this is strictly platonic. And Louis’ okay with that, he really is.

*

“There’s no way this is strictly platonic.”

Zayn shakes his head, his arms folded as he stares at Louis from the nest he’s currently made himself on _Louis’_ bed. Honestly, all he’d wanted was clothing advice, and now Zayn is looking like he’ll never leave, _and_ wants to have the conversation Louis has studiously been avoiding thinking about for the past fortnight. He needs new friends.

“It’s definitely platonic, Zayn, I think I’d know if it wasn’t platonic.” Louis rolls his eyes at himself – he can’t even say it without sounding forlorn. He’s the complete epitome of teenage pining right now, and he isn’t even a teenager anymore, what the fuck.

“God, I’m so pathetic. Why am I even getting so worked up about this?”

“Because,” Zayn draws out, snuggling further into Louis’ favourite cushion, “the guy you’ve been secretly crushing on for the past three years, and very obviously crushing on for the past two weeks, has invited you to his celebrity flat in a celebrity part of town for the first time, which also happens to be his last night in London before he swans off to LA to record his celebrity album.” He snorts. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t working yourself up over this. Did I mention he’s a celebrity?”

“Once or twice,” Louis mutters. “Oh, god. And stop saying crush, you’re making me sound like I’m five.”

“In all serious though, Lou,” Zayn leans forward, staring at Louis until he reluctantly drops the trio of tops he’s currently debating between and meets Zayn’s eyes, “you do realise you’ve basically been dating him for the past two weeks? Like, coffee trips, homemade meals, fucking ice skating? You’ve met his friends! More than once! You’re dating!”

“That was… very animated, for you,” Louis says, after a pause.

“Well, I guess your idiocy brings out my enthusiasm.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis says, dropping heavily to the floor and curling his knees beneath his chin, his hands clutching one of the fallen items of clothing. Zayn sighs from the bed above him, and Louis can feel him staring, even though his own eyes are fixed on the top. It’s an oversized sweatshirt he’d bought recently, with _British Rogue_ written across the front in a curly script. He might wear it tonight.

“Louiis.” Zayn breaks the silence, and when Louis looks up, his eyes immediately soften at whatever he sees in Louis’ face. “Tell me what you’re thinking, bro.”

Louis fiddles the sweatshirt between his fingers. “I’m thinking that I _really_ like him, Zayn, and he’s going back to LA tomorrow and that’ll be it. No, it will,” he insists, as Zayn tries to interrupt. “Like, I don’t think he’ll completely fuck off again like he did last time, but it’s only natural, he’s going to be so busy recording a whole freaking album and I’ll be… here.”

“Okay, firstly, _please_ stop with the self-pity, you’re doing my head in,” Zayn rolls his eyes. “You have a great life and you know it, you’re starting to sound like a fucking Taylor Swift song. Old-school Taylor,” he adds hastily at Louis’ indignant look, hands held up, “I love _1989_ just as much as you, mate, I was talking about old-school Taylor.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Louis snorts, hiding his face in his knees. “Oh god, I’m so pathetic.”

“Secondly,” Zayn continues as if Louis hadn’t spoken, “you don’t know that he’s going to forget about you… but Lou, if you’re really worried about it, just make sure that he doesn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

Zayn shrugs. “All I’m saying is that if tonight is going to be the last night you see him, then you may as well go for it. If you think this is going to be it, then what have you got to lose?”

“Um, my dignity?”

“Yeah, because you’re usually _such_ a dignified person.”

“Zayn Malik,” Louis draws out the name, an unwitting grin forming at one side of his mouth, “are you actually suggesting that I try and seduce Harry tonight? Celebrity Harry? As far as we know totally straight Harry? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Mate, I’m not saying anything,” Zayn says, pushing himself off Louis’ bed and rummaging around in his wardrobe, before throwing a pair of skin tight trousers that Louis likes to refer to as ‘the ass-jeans’ at him. “Wear these tonight.”

He leaves the room with a smirk on his face, Louis left staring at the door in disbelief. He looks at the jeans and shrugs. Okay, maybe he doesn’t need new friends.

*

When Harry had said he had a flat in London, Louis had pictured spacious luxury, maybe the penthouse of some tall, posh block of buildings in an area of the city that Louis was definitely too poor to spend time in. He imagined it filled with memorabilia from the past three years of Harry’s life, photos and souvenirs from all the amazing places he’s visited and people he’s met. Hell, maybe even some awards on display. It would be fancy, but still resolutely ‘Harry;’ maybe with some quirky art pieces or wall hangings, or something else to make it _his_.

Louis blinks as Harry opens the door for him that evening. He’d had to be buzzed into the building and was stared at by an intimidating suited man behind a desk in the lobby as he made his way to the lift, so he was feeling even more nervous than he was when he left his flat (which was already pretty damn nervous, if he’s being honest.) He’d accompanied his ass-jeans with a loose hanging vest that showed off his chest tattoo and a leather jacket, and whilst he’d felt self-confident when he set off, the disparaging look the desk-man had given him was making him regret his clothing choice.

 However, those nervous were wiped from his mind as he stepped into Harry’s flat.

“It’s, um, nice?” Louis offered.

Nice was just about all he could say. Don’t get him wrong, the flat was huge – a massive, open-plan living area accompanied with a flat screen TV and a fancy as fuck stereo system. The kitchen was sparkling clean and filled with equipment that Louis didn’t even recognise, plus – was that two fridges? A corridor led off the side of the kitchen to what Louis assumes was the bedrooms and bathroom.

But it didn’t look lived in.

No photos or paintings on the walls, no personality to the ambience of the rooms. The flat was squeaky clean, and looked like something straight out of a catalogue, but lacking the personal touches that made a house a home.

It wasn’t what Louis was expecting at all.

Louis turns around to face Harry, questioning, and as he did Harry’s head shot up to meet Louis’ eyes, a dull flush spreading across his cheeks. Louis had to resist smirking in triumph – no one could resist the ass-jeans.

It was then that Harry seemed to register Louis’ attempt at courtesy.

“I know it’s not cosy like your place,” he says hastily, biting his lip in what appeared to be embarrassment. “I, um, don’t actually spend that much time here? So I never got round to properly decorating.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one of hands, looking sheepish. “That’s actually one of the reasons I kept suggesting we do things at yours and Zayn’s… I like it there much better than here.”

“I do like it,” Louis quickly amends, because, Jesus Christ, he didn’t want Harry to feel embarrassed. “It’s so much bigger than our place. Um, obviously.” Harry rolls his eyes, but Louis presses on. “No, seriously, wipe that look off your face. I guess I just imagined it would feel more… you?”

Harry laughs warmly. “Like I said, I don’t really spend enough time here to bother making it homely.” But he was smiling now, thankfully, and Louis took the opportunity to step forward and pull him into a hug, pressing his nose into the crook of Harry’s collarbone. Harry was a very touchy-feely person, Louis was coming to learn, so hugging was no new thing for them, but he still felt his stomach tighten as Harry’s arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing him closer.

“Good to see you, Lou.” Harry speaks into Louis’ hair, and Louis rolls his eyes because they only saw each other yesterday, but it was still nice to feel like Harry valued him. Fuck, he was going to miss Harry once he was gone.

“So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” Louis says brightly, trying to push those thoughts to the back of his head.

“Well,” Harry draws out the word, and Louis can’t help but smile. There’s just something about Harry that’s infectious, something inherent in him that emits joy. He reminds Louis of summer; whatever sort of mood he happens to be in, the fact that the sun is shining and the sky is blue just makes everything a little bit brighter, happier. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering in pizza, thought I’d save myself from cooking.”

Louis makes a happy noise in his throat, and follows Harry into the kitchen, who laughs and shakes his head fondly as Louis dives straight for the pizza boxes.

“Whoa, Dominoes – you’ve gone all out,” Louis grins as he shoves a slice in his mouth. Harry pulls a face and Louis opens his mouth wide, chewing with over-emphasis until Harry slaps a hand over Louis’ mouth, laughing through his protest.

“You disgust me,” Harry tries to deadpan, though his eyes are still crinkled in amusement. “And I guess I can afford to go all out these days, especially for you, Lou.” He winks and Louis laughs in delight, pleased that they’ve moved past the awkwardness about Harry’s fame and could now joke about it.

Feeling emboldened by Zayn’s words from earlier, Louis steps forward into Harry’s space. “Oh, really?” he says, tilting his voice up in what he hoped was a flirty manner. Harry just raised an eyebrow though, before patting Louis on the shoulder, and taking the pizza boxes into the living area, dumping them on the coffee table in front of the TV. Louis followed behind him, mentally facepalming. He usually never had trouble with his flirting technique, but everything about Harry left him feeling wrong-footed.

Louis plonks himself onto the sofa next to Harry, closer than he normally would have. Harry shoots him another look, but doesn’t comment on it, instead pulling Louis closer and snuggling into his side, prompting a small hum of contentment from the back of Louis’ throat. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Harry’s shoulder.

The TV is suddenly turned on and blaring, and Harry makes a noise of delight at whatever appears on the screen. Louis opens his eyes, not sure what he’s expecting, but it certainly isn’t a stilted conversation between Bella Swan and Edward Cullen.

“Twilight, seriously?” Louis snorts, raising his chin to meet Harry’s eyes. “Do I need to end this friendship?”

Harry barks out a laugh. “It’s just so bad that I love it!”  Edward has just revealed himself in his full, sparkly glory, and Louis scoffs at the screen. “Plus KStew is such a good actress. She is!” he insists, “It’s just this film she sucks in, and really, that’s Stephanie Meyer’s fault, not hers!”

“Hah, sucks.” Harry elbows Louis’ side in exasperation, and Louis hides his resulting smile in Harry’s shoulder. “Plus, sounds like somebody knows far too much about the Twilight franchise.”

“Shut up and watch the movie,” Harry says, staring straight ahead and refusing to meet Louis’ gaze, the smile twisting his mouth giving him away, though.

Warmth spread through Louis’ chest at the sight of him, and he burrows himself further into Harry’s side.

As the movie goes on, Zayn’s words play over and over in Louis head. And what has he got to lose, really? A two week old friendship that was absolutely going to peter out once Harry returned to his proper life?

Louis takes a breath, and rests a hand lightly on one of Harry’s thighs, slow enough to be casual. Harry seems to tense under his touch, but doesn’t comment on it, so after a few minutes of simply resting his hand there, Louis starts to stroke his thumb slowly back and forth, catching it against Harry’s inseam. There’s a definite hitch in Harry’s breath, and although his eyes are still trained at the screen, Louis thinks his cheeks appear slightly stained.

Shuffling closer, Louis leans his head forward until his nose brushes the base of Harry’s neck, nuzzling into it as his hand continues to move back and forth. Harry’s definitely tense now, and as Louis breathes out against his neck, he twitches, his leg jumping under Louis hand.

Louis moves his hand higher, and Harry lets out a shaky breath.

“Um, Lou?” his voice is strained, higher than usual.

“Mm hmm?” Louis drags his nose up the line of Harry’s neck, his lips ever so slightly brushing the juncture of his shoulder. Harry lets out another breath, a quick and loud exhale, and tilts his head slightly. Louis smirks, feeling his confidence grow. He’s _good_ at this, and if Harry’s response is any indication, his ultra-straight media image isn’t all it seems.

“What – um,” Harry’s voice breaks as Louis’ hand drifts even higher. “What are you doing?”

Louis noses at Harry’s jaw, his lips dusting over Harry’s neck, and Harry’s breath is coming in pants now. Louis rests his hand at the very top of Harry’s thigh, his thumb moving in a circular motion that brushes so close to the bulge that Louis can see forming in Harry’s trousers. So close, but not close enough.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Louis asks, pitching his voice low in a way that he knows makes it sound rugged. He rubs his nose along the line of Harry’s jaw, and moves his hand to cup Harry through his trousers, squeezing lightly.

Harry lets out a low moan, deep in his throat, and his legs twitch and spread, seemingly of their own accord.

“ _Louis_ , what, um. What?” Harry shifts, turning his head to face Louis, which puts his mouth only inches from Louis’ own. His eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed, and he looks _so turned on_ that Louis can’t help feeling proud of himself.

He leans forward ever so slightly, until their noses are touching, and runs his thumb across Harry’s bulge, causing Harry’s eyes to flicker shut. He looks positively debauched, and so, so beautiful.

“I’m doing something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” Louis whispers, before closing the space between them and crashing their lips together.

There’s nothing gentle or romantic about it. Harry’s seems to sink into the kiss, his hands immediately threading into Louis hair, pulling Louis into him. Louis’ hands move to Harry’s shoulders, applying pressure as he kneels over Harry, and Harry complies, sinking back onto the sofa, their lips never parting as Louis follows. He swings a leg over Harry’s, straddling him, and clutches at Harry’s jaw as they continue to kiss, teeth clashing, jaw’s straining. Louis can feel himself straining against his jeans, and he shuffles around in Harry’s lap, trying to find the perfect friction, and, _yes-_

They both gasp as their crotches align, one of Harry’s legs slipping off the sofa and hanging loosely as Louis grinds down against him, moving his attention to Harry’s neck, lips attaching to the pulse point and biting down.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry’s voice is absolutely wrecked, “Louis, _shit_ , I can’t, I-” His hands clutch at Louis hips, grinding up against him, forming a rhythm.

Louis broke the kiss with a gasp, his whole body flushing as heat surged downwards, his hips circling in sync with Harry, who was gasping beneath him, hair matted to his forehead and eyes glazed. He leans down and kisses Harry again, mouths open and sloppy, and knows that he could easily come just from this, but he doesn’t want it to be over so soon.

Harry’s hands have moved from gripping Louis’ hips to his waist, thumbs rubbing down Louis’ back, and his eyelids flutter at the sensation. He shuffles down Harry’s body, coming to rest on top of his knees, and reaches for the top of Harry’s jeans. Harry’s head snaps up at that, his mouth open with his heavy breaths, his hands hovering uncertainly in the space between them.

“Lou, what-” Harry begins to say, but Louis has already unzipped Harry’s trousers and yanked them down to his thighs along with his underwear. Harry’s cock springs free, already hot and heavy-looking, and before Harry get another word out, Louis has leaned forward and swallowed it down.

Harry groans, his head dropping back onto the arm of the sofa, and his back arches, hips thrusting up to meet Louis’ mouth. Louis chokes and pulls off, wiping his mouth, but ignores Harry’s weak apology and gets back to work, slower this time, running his tongue along the underside and circling the tip as Harry’s words transition to high pitched gasps.

Eyes closed, Louis concentrates on the feeling of Harry inside his mouth, against his tongue, and suppresses the urge to attend to his own cock, currently straining against his zipper, and _why_ had he thought it was such a good idea to wear _such tight_ jeans? A hand finds itself in Louis hair, then coming to rest of the back of his head, not guiding Louis, but letting him set his own pace. Each bitten off cry that left Harry’s mouth went straight to Louis’ crotch, and he moved his head faster, sucked with more vigour, because if Harry didn’t finish soon then Louis was going to come in his pants.

For a while the only sounds that could be heard were choked off gasps, rising steadily in pitch and volume, and the obscene wet noises coming from Louis mouth. His cock was really straining now, and it was getting hard to concentrate on Harry, so it was almost a relief when Harry, voice tight and urgent, bit out, “Louis, _Louis,_ fuck, I think I’m-”

Louis pulls off quickly and works Harry through his orgasm, eyes fixed on the look on Harry’s face, his eyes closed and mouth completely slack. The noises Harry was making should really be illegal, and as soon as he’d finished Louis was reaching for his own zipper, his mind and vision hazy, all thoughts centred on getting a hand on his dick _now_.

He was already so close that it only took a few strokes before Louis was coming too, head thrown back and breath coming out in pants. As he came down from the high he felt almost ephemeral, out of body, and it wasn’t long before Harry’s arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, a kiss pressed to the side of his head.

Louis was drifting, his eyes fluttering shut and his head dropping to rest on Harry’s chest, and the last thing he remembers hearing is Harry’s voice, soft and smiling, saying, “let’s get you to bed, love.”

*

Louis wakes up to daylight filtering in through a gap in Harry’s curtains, tangled up in one of the softest duvets he’s ever slept in. The mattress is comfy too, exactly the right balance between soft and firm – perks of being rich, he supposes – and Louis sinks back into it for a few moments, content to fall back into slumber until he realises that he’s alone in the bed, and that he shouldn’t be.

He sits up blearily. Harry’s room is full of creams and beige; it’s very nice, but like the rest of the flat, not really what Louis would imagine Harry’s bedroom to be like. He can barely remember getting to the bedroom the previous night, if he’s honest, his memory is pretty blurry after – Louis’ face heats up as the details of the night before come back to him. _God_ , he was so forward. That’s a bit mortifying. Plus, he didn’t even get a chance to talk to Harry afterwards, confess his feelings and all that jazz. He supposes he needs to do that now, except – except Harry isn’t here.

Louis gets out of bed, realising that he’s been stripped down to his underwear, and makes his way into the living area of Harry’s flat. Maybe Harry’s making breakfast? Except he isn’t, and now Louis’ frowning, because something about this doesn’t feel right.

Louis’ about to retreat to Harry’s bedroom and put some clothes on, when he hears a muffled voice coming from what he can only assume is the main bathroom, further down the corridor that led off the main room. The door was only open a slither, as if it had been closed in a hurry and the latch hadn’t held, and as Louis neared it, he could definitely hear Harry’s voice coming from within. He was about to open it and question why exactly Harry was talking to himself when he realised that Harry was on the phone.

He froze, knowing that he should just go back to the bedroom and pretend to be asleep, _clearly_ he shouldn’t stick around and listen to a _private_ conversation, but something about this situation still felt off – why was Harry hiding in his bathroom, instead of in the living room, or even better, in bed next to Louis? – and Louis couldn’t help but creep closer to the door.

“It just all happened so out of nowhere, I didn’t know what to do!” Harry was saying, in a whisper-shout that clearly wasn’t meant to be overheard by Louis. Louis felt his face flush – it sounded like Harry was talking about him. Maybe he should have thought twice about his seduction plan, it wasn’t supposed to give Harry the impression that he was a massive slut (not that there’s anything wrong with that, he immediately counters – Louis was proud of his sluttiness and ability to seduce. And it had certainly worked last night – right?)

He zoned back in to hear Harry scoff through the phone. “Yeah, thanks for that Niall, that’s really helpful.” Louis could hear the voice on the other line, speaking in a soothing tone, but had no chance of picking up what the other person – Niall – was saying. “I know! I know that, hell. But you weren’t there, you didn’t see him!” Harry’s tone was almost mournful, and Louis flushed again, wishing he’d just stayed in bed.

Harry laughed at something the other guy on the line said, but it sounded almost manic. “Yeah, well, what would you have done? You know how I feel! And he’s so much hotter than he was three years ago Ni, and you remember how hot he was then, right?” Louis flushed a deep red at that, not liking the desperate edge to Harry’s voice at all. And was – was he talking to someone that knew Louis? The name Niall did ring a bell –

He was brought out of his musings by Harry’s next words.

“Well, of course I regret it, but I couldn’t help myself!” Harry laughed again, and now it sounded pained, and Louis’ stomach dropped through the floor. He backed away quickly, not wanting to hear anymore.

Back in Harry’s room, Louis threw his clothes on as fast as he could, trying to hold back angry tears. Harry didn’t want Louis like that, but what – couldn’t help himself because he found Louis attractive? Louis knew he’d been a bit forward about everything, but Jesus Christ, he’d at least expected Harry to say so if he didn’t actually want Louis! Or was the prospect of a blow job too good to pass up? Louis guesses he was right that Harry was planning on forgetting about him when he went back to LA, if he was willing to ruin the friendship for some no-strings sex. That he now regretted.

Making his way through to the living room, Louis fastened his shoes with shaky hands. Harry still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. It had been such a stupid idea, coming on to Harry like that. He’d obviously given Harry the wrong impression, and now Harry regretted sleeping with him – and god, he couldn’t get Harry’s words about not being able to help himself out of his head. He felt _dirty_. Harry had spent the past two weeks dispelling all thoughts of his media image from Louis’ mind, but maybe the tabloids were spot on.

He couldn’t resist slamming the door on his way out.

*

The following week, quite frankly, sucked. Louis wasn’t confined to his bed or anything – he knew that it had been a risk when he’d gone to Harry’s that night, and his risk hadn’t paid off. He just hadn’t thought it would happen like this; expecting to be either turned down or, well, not. And when Harry had kissed him back, he’d thought that that was it. Feelings returned.

Apparently not.

And Louis was angry, yeah, but he hadn’t expected to feel quite this _hurt_.

“M’sorry, Lou,” Zayn says, for what must be the fifth time that evening, taking a swig of vodka before handing it back to Louis.

“S’not your fault.” Louis’ head was resting against Zayn’s shoulders, snuggled up under the blanket they were sharing on Louis’ bed, but he looks up to give Zayn an absentminded pat on the head and take a big gulp from the bottle. “The plan was good, it was my execlution – execution -   that was poor. My fault. All my fault.” He tucks his head back into Zayn’s shoulder, before gasping in outrage at a slap to his leg.

“Stop it, this is in no way your fault,” Eleanor snaps from her position at the foot of the bed, hitting his leg again before reaching over and snatching the bottle from Louis’ grasp, ignoring his protests. “I’m taking this away, you’re getting far too maudlin.” She took a long swig from the bottle herself, before resting it on the floor of the bedroom. “You’ve been awful all week, and yeah, we said you could have one night of moping before putting it behind you, but for fuck’s sake, stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault he’s a dick.”

“Yeah, who fucked and chucked me,” Louis says into Zayn’s neck, who let out a little laugh and brought a hand round to rub Louis’ shoulder comfortingly. “Fucking Harry. Fucking pop stars.”

“Dicks, the lot of them,” Zayn declared loudly.

“Dicks who sleep with you and then regret it and then don’t even call you or text you once afterwards,” Louis sighs. “Well, message received, loud and fucking clear.” Eleanor sighs, and crawls up the bed to hug his other side, and he snuggles further into them both. He has the best friends.

“He’s the one missing out, Lou, you don’t need him!” Eleanor says fiercely, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I know I don’t need him,” Louis yawns, his words slurring together. Everything was hazy and fuzzy, and the tightness in his chest that had accompanied him everywhere for the past week was feeling looser than usual. Alcohol had been a great idea. “But I did want him, was the thing. It was nice while it lasted.” He settled more firmly against Zayn’s shoulder and yawned again. “Fucking Harry. Fucking Niall.” Zayn’s arm tightened around his shoulders.

That was the other thing. Louis had googled Niall’s name when he got back to his flat, suspicious after Harry had made it sound like the person on the other end already knew what Louis looked like. Turns out the happy-go-lucky Irish boy that was sent home from X-Factor at the same time as Louis was now Harry’s manager, and, according to the tabloids, his most trusted confidante.

So much for Harry ceasing contact with Louis because he got swept up in the competition and didn’t have time for new friendships. If Harry had been able to stay in touch with Niall – and get closer than they were before the live shows, by all accounts, then why hadn’t he stayed in touch with Louis?

_What was wrong with me?_

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Zayn says adamantly, and Louis realises he’d spoken aloud.

“Harry obviously disagrees,” Louis sighs, and when Eleanor’s hand finds its way into his, he pushes his face into Zayn’s neck and squeezes back tightly.

*

Louis is woken up the Sunday after Harry left for LA by his phone ringing. He jolts awake, then realises with a groan that it’s far too early to be up on a Sunday – judging by the sunlight it’s seven am, eight am? It’s been a rough week, and all he wanted was a lie in.

Reaching for his phone, Louis answers harsher than was probably necessary. “What?” he demands.

At first he doesn’t think anyone is there, all he can hear is loud music blasting through the phone, but then the music quietens, sounding further away, and Harry’s voice can be heard loud and clear.

“Lou? S’that you?”

Louis’ chest immediately tightens – why hadn’t he looked at the caller ID? He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and Harry speaks again.

“Lou, are you there?” He sounds drunk.

“Are you drunk?” Louis asks. Doing a quick calculation, he realises it must be well past midnight in LA.

“Niall told me not to ring you,” Harry says, his voice louder than it needs to be. Louis can still hear music in the background, and now that he’s listening properly, voices too.

“Are you at a party?” Louis asks. He’s so confused. He’d resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to hear from Harry again, and now he gets a drunk call? “Why are you calling me?”

“Fuck you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry slurs, and Louis’ mouth drops open in outrage. “Fuck you. Niall told me not to call, but I – but I couldn’t help it.” He sounds really drunk, and Louis pushes down the concern that naturally rises, _I couldn’t help myself_ ringing in his head. “I just – why d’you do it, Lou? I just need to know. What did I do to make you – for you to do that?”

“Why did I do what?” Louis says, perplexed. “You’re drunk, I can’t understand you. Are you – do you mean why did I _sleep_ with you?” Louis’ cheeks flush as he asks, his free hand fiddling with his duvet nervously.

“You knew I was gay,” Harry says, and _whoa_ , hold on, no, Louis did not know that, thank you very much, “and you must have known how I felt about you. Why did – what kind of person are you to that to me?” His voice is loud and angry, and now Louis is really confused.

“Harry, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, but no, I did not know you were gay, the first indication I had that you were anything other than heterosexual was when you kissed me back and then let me suck your cock,” Louis says heatedly. “And the only thing I know about your feelings towards me is that you think sleeping with me was a mistake, so if you’re just ringing me to accuse me of things I didn’t do, then I think I’m going to hang up now.”

“No, don’t!” Harry cries quickly, suddenly sounded a lot more panicked than angry. There’s a long silence, and Louis considering hanging up anyway, before Harry says, “and wait… what?”

Louis laughs tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. “What, what, Harry?”

“What do you mean I think sleeping with you was a mistake?”

“I literally heard you on the phone the next morning telling your friend that you regret it,” Louis sighs. It’s too early for this. He wants to go back to bed.

“Well, yeah,” Harry says hotly, sounding confused and angry and hurt. “But that was only because you took advantage of me! You knew I liked you, so you did it just to say you could – right?”

“You think I slept with you for your _name_?” Louis says after a beat of silence, in which he feels his heart jumping in his chest. He’s proud of himself for managing to string a sentence together, feeling like he’s been clubbed over the head, and all he can hear is Harry’s voice saying _you knew I liked you_ over and over. “ _What?_ ”

The line is silent for so long that Louis begins to think Harry has hung up, before a voice says, “you – you mean you didn’t?” Harry sounds small and confused, but before Louis can say anything else, and what the _fuck_ , why would Harry even think that, Harry’s talking again, louder this time. “But then why did you leave the next morning?”

Louis laughs bitterly. “Well, hearing you telling your friend Niall that you regretted sleeping with me but couldn’t resist my body didn’t exactly make me want to stay.”

There’s another silence. “Wait – what?” Harry doesn’t sound angry anymore, just confused and upset, and it hits him that Harry really doesn’t know what Louis’ talking about. There’s clearly a conversation to be had here, and right now, Harry is far too intoxicated.

“I think you need to call me when you’re sober, Harry,” Louis says, a lot more gently this time. _You knew I liked you._

“No, don’t go!” Harry says, sounding childlike and urgent, “I didn’t, Lou – I – you mean you didn’t sleep with me for my name?”

“What did I do to make you think I was that type of person?” Louis says sadly, and he thinks he hears Harry sniff in response. “I slept with you because I liked you, and I wanted to, and I thought you wanted to, too.” Harry definitely sniffs at that.

“Call me when you wake up in the morning, okay?” Louis says, feeling like he’s being unkind whilst Harry is clearly upset, but right now Louis is far too confused to offer any source of comfort.

“No, wait, please don’t go -” Harry voice is thick, but Louis knows there’s no point talking about this when Harry’s in this state.

“Call me when you’re sober, Harry,” Louis says again, before hanging up, cutting off Harry’s protest. He threw his phone onto his sheets and stared blankly at the wall in front of him. No point trying to go back to sleep after that.

Harry thought Louis slept with him for his _name_? Louis knew he’d been quite forward that night, but surely that was an overreaction on Harry’s part? _Although you didn’t exactly stick around to let him explain the phone call you heard, did you?_

Louis throws himself back down onto his bed and shoves his face in his pillow, determined not to think about it until he had a proper explanation from Harry. Still, he couldn’t get Harry’s voice out of his head, saying _you knew I was gay_ and _you knew I liked you_.

His chest felt looser than it had all week.

It was well into the afternoon before Louis’ phone rang. He’d spent the morning _not thinking about it_ , and lunch _not thinking about it_ , and was currently watching television and _not thinking about it_. That didn’t stop him leaping onto the phone and answering before the second ring.

“Harry?” Louis says urgently, his stomach in knots.

There was silence on the other line, before Harry’s voice says, quiet and croaky, “I think I’ve been an idiot.”

Louis can’t help but laugh, not altogether happily. “Right, so I’m really confused,” he says, feeling like he may as well just go with honesty. “From what I gathered from your phone call that morning – which, I know I shouldn’t have overheard, but that’s not the point – it sounded like you didn’t want me, but slept with me anyway, and then regretted it. But then earlier, or last night for you, I guess, you accused me of sleeping with you for your name, and I just don’t get how you could possibly think I’d do that?”

Harry starts to say something, but his voice cracks, and he clears his throat roughly. “Sorry, I feel like something died in my mouth,” Harry says, and man, he does sound rough. “I’ll live, though. But Lou, I -  I’m so sorry for giving you the impression that I didn’t want you, that’s not it at all,” he chokes out a laugh, “this is all such a mess.”

“I’ve gathered that,” Louis says, trying and failing to supress the feeling of hope that blooms in his chest at Harry’s words. “Why don’t you go first, and then me?”

“Okay,” Harry exhales heavily. “So, you were acting really weird when you got to mine, and I didn’t really know why, and then you just suddenly came on to me out of nowhere and I didn’t know what was happening, but I liked you so much that I couldn’t say no, and it was so great, Louis. But then the next morning I realised that your behaviour only made sense if you were actively trying to sleep with me for a reason, because, it’s not like you told me you liked me or anything, so I thought you were just doing it to say you’d slept with a famous person or something. Let’s such say I recognised the signs. And that’s when I rang Niall in a panic, and I guess you heard the rest.”

“Oh, god.” How had Louis managed to get it _this_ wrong? “Harry, I’m – I’m so sorry I gave you that impression.” He could feel himself flushing red. “I – I was just so nervous that evening – I liked you so much and I had no idea if you felt the same or if you were even straight or not, so I thought I’d just go for it. I didn’t think about how it would look from your side. I should have just told you how I feel, I’m an idiot. I was going to the next morning. But I swear, the only reason I did it was because I liked you. Full stop.”

The line was silent, before Harry groans softly. “I’m sorry I jumped to that conclusion so quickly. I thought it didn’t fit with what I knew about you, but – I’ve been wrong before. I slept with you because I wanted to, too. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise.”

“I’m sorry I made you think otherwise, too,” Louis says quietly. “This person who broke your trust before-”

“Not important,” Harry says before Louis can finish, “honestly, Lou, I shouldn’t even have compared the two situations. How I felt about them dims in comparison to how I feel about you now.”

Louis’ stomach leaps at that confession, but he doesn’t let himself feel it yet. “So, just to clarify, I like you, you like me, and we’re both massive idiots?”

Harry laughs, and warmth spreads through Louis’ chest. “God, yes, of course I like you! I’ve had a massive thing for you since X-Factor, you know.”

“You’ve what?” Louis says, the smile falling from his face. “Don’t be a dick, Haz. If you’d liked me since X-Factor, then…” _You wouldn’t have ignored me; you wouldn’t have ditched me for three years._

“I’m not being a dick,” Harry says, and he isn’t laughing now, but talking earnestly, as if he’s desperate for Louis to believe him. “That’s why. That’s why they made me stop talking to you.”

Louis ears start to ring. “ _Who_ made you stop talking to me?”

“The producers of the show,” Harry answers. “And I’m so, so sorry that I listened to them, but I was sixteen, and I had a crush, and there were all these older men telling me that I wouldn’t make it if I was gay, and that I should just stop contact with you now or it’d make it worse in the long run… so I did. A clean break, they said. It’s the most cowardly thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve regretted it since the X-Factor. That’s why I was so happy to see you at that pub. You didn’t deserve that treatment, and I’ve wanted to apologise for years.”

Louis’ hands were shaking. All this time he’d thought it had been something he’d done, and instead it was some bullshit producers telling Harry who he could and couldn’t talk to?

“Lou?” Harry asks, after Louis doesn’t respond. He sounds worried. “I’m so sorry, honestly. I always hoped you knew, on some level. I thought I was pretty obvious about it when we were together.”

“How could I possibly have known?” Louis voice comes out strangled. “All this time I thought you just forgot about me, got caught up in the excitement of the show. And then when I found out you kept in touch with Niall but not me…” he trailed off, not wanting to admit how hurt he was.

Harry seemed to realise it anyway, and exhales slowly. “I really am sorry. I guess that’s all I can say. It was a mistake, and I really regret it. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. If you still want me to?”

Louis sighs heavily, but can’t help but smile reluctantly. “I accept your apology. I would have liked some indication that you weren’t sick of me… that would have saved me a lot of hurt, but the past is in the past. And as lovely as you were at sixteen, it’s the you I’ve gotten to know recently that I’m falling for.”

Was that too strong? Harry didn’t seem to think so, if his laugh of relief was any indication.

“I’m falling for you too,” Harry confesses quietly. “I’ve been a bit messed up this past week.”

“So have I,” Louis says, “oh, my god, we’re both fucking idiots.”

“That we are,” Harry says, and the happiness in his voice could light up the room. “So,” he takes a breath, “if I were to keep calling and texting you while I’m in LA, in an exclusive kind of way, would that be okay with you?”

“That would be very okay with me,” Louis hides his smile in his hands, feeling his cheeks redden. “And if you were to come stay with me when you next get a break from being a massive fucking pop star, in an exclusive kind of way, would that be okay with you?”

Harry’s laugh is answer enough.

*

*

*

When the doorbell rings, Louis’ heart jumps into his throat.

He’s spent the morning in front of the TV, trying to calm his nerves, but couldn’t help his foot twitching or his hands fiddling with his sleeves. Zayn had left a while ago, rolling his eyes and saying that he needed a cigarette because _fucking hell, Lou, you’re making_ me _nervous_. He was yet to return though, so Louis suspects he’s making himself scarce for the afternoon.

Harry’s flight had been supposed to get into Heathrow over an hour ago, and Louis knew how London traffic could get, but Harry had said he’d come straight to Louis’, and he was late enough that Louis was starting to doubt this whole thing. Maybe Harry wasn’t coming after all? Maybe his record label had put their foot down about Harry taking the weekend off to spend some impromptu time with his boyfriend?

 _Boyfriend_. Louis thrills at the word. It had been two weeks since they’d started using the word, and it hadn’t got old yet. But Louis was sure the record label hadn’t been quite so thrilled, so really, it would be no surprise if –

And then the doorbell ring.

Louis pushes his nerves down as he springs across the flat. He’s being silly. Yes, okay, this is the first time they’ll have seen each other in weeks, and the first time as _boyfriends_ (fucking hell), but really, there was nothing to be nervous about –

The door opens to reveal a dishevelled looking Harry, and all of Louis reservations die at the sight of him.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry starts to say. “The flight was delayed, and then it took forever to get my stuff from baggage claim, and –” He was interrupted by Louis throwing his arms around him. 

Louis sinks into Harry’s warmth, and presses his face into his neck, grinning and Harry’s arms wrap themselves around his waist, lifting Louis off the floor and walking them into the flat. Louis giggles, his legs wrapping around Harry as the door shuts behind them. Harry dumps his bag on the floor, then walks Louis across the living room and throws him onto the sofa, sitting down beside him with a beaming face, and reaches a hand out to stroke across Louis cheek.

Louis feels like his smile could guide ships to safety. “I can’t believe I get to do this now,” Harry says softly, and Louis’ grin takes on a smirking edge.

“Oh, yeah? Do what, exactly?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but obediently leans forward and then they’re kissing, and Louis can’t help but smile into it, gripping the collar of Harry’s shirt and moving closer on the sofa, opening his mouth as Harry shifts and deepens it, a hand threading through Louis’ hair.

When they break apart, they’re both flushed and grinning.

“I’ve missed you,” Louis says, and Harry’s eyes soften in answer.

“I always miss you,” he says, and then looks around at the messy flat, blankets covering the floor and half eaten bowls of crisps perched on the table in front of the TV. “I’ve missed it here, too. Nowhere I stay is ever this cosy.”

“You could always decorate your own flat, you know,” Louis offers, than raises his eyebrows as Harry laughs.

“Oh, Lou.” Louis gets the feeling he’s being laughed at, but Harry’s smile is amused as he brushes a thumb over Louis’ cheek again, so he doesn’t mind too much. “You really are oblivious. I never stay in that London flat, I only keep it for appearance sake.  The only reason I was even here for so long in January was, well, because I wanted to spend time with you.”

“What?” Louis says in disbelief. “You’re having me on, that’s not true!”

“Honestly!” Harry laughs, and pulls Louis onto his lap. Louis settles on top of Harry’s thighs and slides his arms around the back of Harry’s head. “I was actually meant to go stay with my parents after the show in London, but I cancelled on them.”

Louis tries without much success to stop a smile overcoming his face. He leans down and kisses Harry, softly and chastely. “I bet your mum’s not too happy with me, then,” he says, face still close to Harry’s.

Harry leans up and rubs his nose against Louis’. “On the contrary, she wants to meet you. In fact,” he squeezes Louis’ thighs lightly, “how would you feel about coming to stay with me in LA when your term finishes? My parents will be coming out too at some point, but like I said, they want to meet you.”

Louis leans back so that he can see Harry’s face properly. “Seriously?”

Harry leans up and pecks Louis’ lips quickly. “Yeah, seriously. Stay in my house – my proper house – see the record studio, meet my family. I want you involved in my future stuff and stuff.”

Louis blushes, remembering his awkward parting words at the pub that first night, but he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah, yeah okay. And for the record, I want to be involved in your future stuff and stuff, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“I don’t know, you can never be _too_ obvious. Might end up with miscommunications, otherwise.” Louis rolls his eyes, but he feels like his happiness must be radiating off him in waves. He’s glad Zayn isn’t here to see him right now, he’d never let him live it down. “So, Louis Tomlinson, for the sake of stating the obvious, I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

“Sounds pretty fucking okay to me,” Louis says with a grin, and leans forward to join their lips once more.

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first venture into writing for the One Direction fandom, and my first time writing at all in about a year, so any comments or constructive criticism are welcomed and appreciated!


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